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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29600943">Old Sins Cast Long Shadows</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Imawriteritswhatido/pseuds/Imawriteritswhatido'>Imawriteritswhatido</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Murder on the Orient Express (1974), Murder on the Orient Express (2017), Poirot - Agatha Christie, RWBY</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>A Loving Homage?, Alternate Universe - 1930s, Detective Oz AU, F/F, F/M, Might be first in a series, Murder Mystery AU, Nobody has their canon names here, Or gutless plagarism?, Orient Express AU, Period-Typical Homophobia, Period-Typical Racism, You Decide, no betas we die like men, ozdad, rating may go up in the future</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-16 02:20:38</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,632</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29600943</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Imawriteritswhatido/pseuds/Imawriteritswhatido</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>There are those of us who believe in loyalty above all else. Loyalty to one's friends, to one's family, to one's caste, to one's convictions.</p><p>But is there a limit to this loyalty? What happens when the impossible flies in the face of reason and says "I happened, get over it?"</p><p>When a line is drawn, when is it worth stepping over? And can we step back?</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Blake Belladonna/Sun Wukong, Oscar Pine/Ruby Rose, Ozpin &amp; Oscar Pine, Weiss Schnee/Neptune Vasilias</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>9</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>28</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Breakfast in Jerusalem</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>”When you set out on a shoplifting expedition, you go always to Cartier's, and never to Woolworth's!"</em>
</p><p>
  <em>― Barry Morse, the Fugitive Recaptured by Ed Robertson</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em> “For I consider brains far superior to money in every way. You may have noticed that if one has money without brains, he cannot use it to his advantage; but if one has brains without money, they will enable him to live comfortably to the end of his days.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>― L. Frank Baum, The Wonderful Wizard of Oz</em>
</p>
<hr/><p> </p><p> </p><p>Snow has long been associated with joy.</p><p>A school day ended early or otherwise cancelled. Snowmen, sledding, holidays, a fire in the hearth, the promise of springtime’s renewal, of the end of a year, even a terrible one. Snow could mean relief from the heat and from routine. It could mean fuel for imagination, inspiring art and poetry.</p><p>But for the friends of Tara Clay and Saffron Darc, snow held an indelible meaning of tragedy. And to those that knew the details of what loud and loquacious news reporters called “The story that shook the world”, snow called to mind the same imagery.</p><p>Images of a stately Georgian mansion standing solitary against the late November sky.</p><p>A ladder in pieces piled against the south wall.</p><p>An empty crib.</p><p>A woman crumpled on the floor in front of the stairs like the ladder at the window.</p><p>A woman bound and gagged in the nursery.</p><p>A scream.</p><p>Two people in a greenhouse.</p><p>A car run off the road into the ditch.</p><p>Throngs of reporters, flocking to the distraught family like vultures to a carcass.</p><p>Endless newsreels and headlines, reading “HOUSEHOLD STAFF QUESTIONED” and “WHO TOOK ADRIAN CLAY?”</p><p>A ransom demanded and paid.</p><p>Bones in a clearing.</p><p>The headline “ADRIAN FOUND SLAIN.”</p><p>Secrets revealed too soon.</p><p>Two women together in death.</p><p>A man with a self-inflicted gunshot wound.</p><p>Three tombstones side by side, amidst an ocean of flowers.</p><p>A girl wrongly accused.</p><p>Sheets draped over furniture and paintings like ghosts in the dark.</p><p>An unanswered-for sin.</p><p>A criminal free.</p><p>Dreams of revenge.</p><p>Snow could call to mind beauty and peace for some. For others, it brought only the grey feeling of rage mixed with sadness.</p><p>And it seemed only too fitting, or maybe it was God’s sense of humor, that would allow a massive snowbank to be the first part of the closure to those events.</p><p>The other part was a man and a boy. A Detective and his apprentice.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p>Oscar Pine snorted as he awoke. Odd, he thought as he looked to the clock at his bedside, I don’t usually get up this late.</p><p>Though, he supposed, that since he’d started travelling with Professor Diggs, routine had become more of a guideline than anything else.</p><p>Moving the bedcovers off and stretching Oscar yawned.</p><p>“Well, this is the first time I think I’ve risen before you.”</p><p>The man sitting at a table before the window, eating what could only assume was an Israeli breakfast, sat a man with a lean face and pince-nez glasses that he’d been told were made of smoky quartz. The man’s hair was silver, but he did not seem particularly old. He dressed in a green and black bespoke suit and by his side, an ebony cane with a silver tip rested.</p><p>“Won’t happen again,” Oscar said, standing and walking to the table with a smile.</p><p>“What’s for breakfast?” he asked, sitting down.</p><p>“Shakshouka,” the professor said, pointing to the bowl he was eating from. It looked an awful lot like tomato sauce with eggs to Oscar.</p><p>“We also have sardines, smoked salmon, chopped salad, fresh fruit, bread, Baba ghanoush…”</p><p>“Baba ghanoush?”          </p><p>Oz nodded, pointing his fork at a dish full of white paste to Oscar’s left.</p><p>“It’s made from eggplant.”</p><p>Oscar grimaced.</p><p>“Eggplant? I think I’ll stick with the cheese.”</p><p>“Suit yourself,” Professor Diggs said, fishing an egg out of his Shakshouka, “but don’t blame me when you’re starving three hours from now.”</p><p>Oscar rolled his eyes and cut a slice of bread to make that great American contribution to world cuisine: a cheese sandwich.</p><p>Not that Oscar didn’t think that the different foods of the world were worth trying since he’d left Kansas with the Professor (or Oz as he preferred to be called). He’d loved the crescent rolls (croissants, he reminded himself) in Paris and the carbonara he and Oz had eaten while hitchhiking across Italy had been a pleasant surprise.</p><p>But he’d drawn the line at raw fish in Japan, an event which had led to their host ejecting them into the street, an experience he was careful not to repeat.</p><p>From his pocket, Oz withdrew a large silver watch, the shine from the early Jerusalem sun revealing intricate engravings spiraling across its surface. Inside the lid there was an inscription: Vi veri universum vivus vici. Oscar had asked where he’d gotten it and Oz had only said it came from ‘a friend he’d had a falling out with.’ and left it at that. So Oscar left it at that.</p><p>“Our escort should be here by now,” Oz said, returning the watch to his pocket, “at least by the end of breakfast.”</p><p>Oz returned the watch to his pocket.</p><p>“He does seem like the kind of guy to get all up in arms over someone else wasting his time,” Oscar said, reaching for the smoked salmon, “and then waste theirs.”</p><p>Oz smiled and nodded before opening a copy of a local newspaper the concierge had sent up with their breakfast. Oscar, meanwhile, returned to his meal.</p><p>Their escort, Chief Inspector Black, had not impressed Oscar when they’d first met. A coarse man with money on his mind and, judging from his breath, a weakness for alcohol, he’d patently ignored Oscar and tended to badger Oz whenever he didn’t produce a suspect (one of Arab decent seemed to be the preference).</p><p>Word around the Turkish bathhouses was that he’d only been sent to Jerusalem to keep him away from any other part of the British Empire.</p><p>“Maybe we should just head out,” Oscar said, “I’ve got that errand.”</p><p>“Give him half an hour,” the Professor said, “and then we’ll go. Here.”</p><p>From his Shakshouka, Oz removed a poached egg and placed it on a plate, sliding it over to Oscar.</p><p>“Eat this,” he said, “you’ll be starving before noon if you don’t eat more than bread and fruit.”</p><p>Oscar took the egg and continued with his breakfast. Oz helped himself to the Turkish Coffee that sat steaming beside their meal.</p><p>Just as Oz had predicted, the knock on their door came twenty minutes later; a knock that threatened to shake the pictures off the walls.</p><p>Wiping his hands on his pants, Oscar crossed the room and opened the door to find a man in a police uniform with blinding bleach blond hair and a scowl.</p><p>“Can I help you, Chief Inspector?” Oscar asked.</p><p>“Take off, boy,” the Chief Inspector said, “I’m here to see Diggs.”</p><p>“That is my apprentice,” Oz said, “and anything you can tell me in confidence you can tell him.”</p><p>“Doesn’t look like much,” the chief inspector said, leaning down with a skeptical eye at Oscar, “looks like a stiff breeze would knock him down.”</p><p>Oscar’s eyebrow rose.</p><p>“Is this really the first time you’ve seen me?”</p><p>Black turned to look at Oz.</p><p>“Best teach your boy some manners,” he said.</p><p>“I taught him to greet women in hijabs with a hand to his chest,” Oz replied coolly, not bothering to look up from his paper, “that’s manners.”</p><p>“Actual manners,” the inspector groused.</p><p>Oz hummed, picking up his coffee cup for a drink.</p><p>“So,” the inspector said, “you have a suspect?”</p><p>“Would you care for some coffee, inspector?” Oz asked.</p><p>“I don’t want that darkie piss, I asked you a question!”</p><p>“And I’m not in the mood to answer any questions,” Oz said, “not while you’re flaring your nostrils like that.”</p><p>“I’m not flaring my nostrils.”</p><p>“Ut tibi placet,” Oz said, before looking over his paper towards Oscar.</p><p>“Oscar, I think it’s time for you to run that errand.”</p><p>Oscar smiled and nodded.</p><p>“I’ll go get my kit,” he said.</p><p>The inspector watched Oscar leave before turning back to Oz.</p><p>“I should’ve known you’d be like this,” he said.</p><p>“Able to read?” Oz asked, leafing to the next page of his newspaper.</p><p>“Showy,” the inspector said, “I should’ve followed my instincts and rounded up every pickpocket and snake charmer on the streets until we found something.”</p><p>“I find that physical power is a decadence in the pursuit of the truth,” Oz said.</p><p>“Well, we’ve got three religions ready to riot, so if you’re going to pull a miracle out of your ass, the time is now.”</p><p>With a final sip of coffee, the professor rose.</p><p>“I think a miracle can wait for us to take the scenic route. I’ve heard that the Dome of the Rock is absolutely breathtaking in the morning light.”</p><p>He tried not to smile too much at the inspector’s childish grumbling.</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Remember to Comment and Leave Kudos. The more I get, the more I'll write. and the more I write, the faster the next chapter will be posted. (-;</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. A Midmorning Case</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  
</p><p> </p><p>They drove slowly, making sure to keep their lights off. The full moon reflecting off the snow was enough for them to see by, even with the tangling shadows of bare tree branches.</p><p>De La Motte was busy mentally preparing himself. The barbital, taken from his own bathroom cabinet, sat heavily in his pocket, a treat for a wakeful baby if it decided to get too loud. He’d done what he called “high-risk-expeditions” before, but this was probably his most ambitious yet. Really, if polite society knew of how daring he was in planning this, he would be commended.</p><p>“How’s the wife?” his driver said.</p><p>“Shut up and drive,” De La Motte said simply.</p><p>“I’ll drive,” the other man replied, “but I won’t shut up. You expect to drive yourself there?”</p><p>De La Motte grumbled and stared out the window sourly. Best not to confirm the suspicion that he couldn’t drive. His second partner leaned up from the back seat.</p><p>“We should make sure we have everything,” he said.</p><p>De La Motte rolled his eyes.</p><p>“Again?”</p><p>“Do you want to pull up and find out we left something at your house?”</p><p>De La Motte sighed</p><p>“Do we have the rope?”</p><p>De La Motte held up the coiled rope so both of the car’s fellow occupants could see.</p><p>“The ladder?”</p><p>“It’s sitting right beside you,” De La Motte said, testily.</p><p>“The ransom note?”</p><p>De La Motte patted his breast pocket.</p><p>“If we have to run, I can always mail it.”</p><p>“And lead the police right to us,” the driver said.</p><p>“Do you have to question my every statement?”</p><p>“Only when they’re stupid.”</p><p>“Just remember who’s paying you.”</p><p>“I will when I see the money.”</p><p>“He’s right,” the partner said, reclining in his seat, “you came up short on your last payment. And a good record’s no substitute for money.”</p><p>“We’ll have the money,” De La Motte said, bristling and hoping he didn’t look like a scared rabbit.</p><p>“Meaning you’ll have the money,” the partner replied.</p><p>Whether that meant he suspected De La Motte would double cross them or give them their cut without a fight was left to interpretation. Which was something De La Motte didn’t care for.</p><p>Silence fell over the car again. When the car pulled out off of the backroad and out into the open, the driver spoke again.</p><p>“We’re coming up on the driveway,” he said, “if I recall correctly, the chauffer is out for the night. Everyone but the nurse should be dozing or asleep already.”</p><p>“Well, we know how to deal with that,” De La motte said, lifting the rope and stretching it taught.</p><p>“Good luck with that,” the partner said, “that woman is what happens when God decides a gorilla should be more feminine. I’ve seen her lift a steamer trunk and a table when she was tipsy.”</p><p>“Then we’ll just have to blindside her,” De La Motte said.</p><p>The Driver pulled the car into the driveway of a Georgian mansion, making sure to stay beneath the shadow of the tree line, extended by the light of the moon. Thunder rumbled in the distance. De La Motte smiled. Tonight it was predicted that a major rainstorm was coming, one that would wash away their tracks in the snow and ruin any scent that a dog could track.</p><p>He was a genius, really.</p><p>“Got the ladder?” De La Motte asked.</p><p>the partner nodded.</p><p>“Alright then.”</p><p>De La Motte climbed out of the car and gently shut the door.</p><p>“Remember,” he said, “in through the window, out through the window. If you have to talk, use a German accent.”</p><p>“And if the rain starts, the car starts,” the driver said, “I know.”</p><p>“Then you’d do well to remember,” said De La Motte, “hand me the ladder.”</p><p>De La Motte made his way across the yard, stepping lightly and sticking to the shadows where he could, no sound except for the crunch of snow under his shoes could be heard. His partner followed, carefully stepping in De La Motte’s already made footprints. If the rain didn’t wash away their tracks, it would at least hide the number of people involved. The two men paused at the rustle of bushes to his left.</p><p>“Do they have a dog?” the partner whispered.</p><p>“No,” De La Motte answered.</p><p>Had they forgotten someone? Which servants would be outside this late?</p><p>A buck bounded into the yard, looked around before staring stupidly at them with big glassy eyes. De La Motte bared his teeth at it.</p><p>“Go on, scram!” he hissed as loud as he dared.</p><p>The buck took off towards the house, dashing across the front yard and out of sight.</p><p>“You scared a deer,” the partner said, “How brave.”</p><p>De La Motte could hear the sarcasm in his voice, but didn’t comment.</p><p>They continued on until they reached the wall. A story above them, the window of little baby Adrien, illuminated by moonlight, stood out against the white walls of the house. A promise of wealth to come.</p><p>Tenderly, De La Motte unfolded and sat the ladder against the wall. He turned to his co-hort.</p><p>“Hold it steady,” he said, “I’m going up.”</p><p>Yes, by the time this was over, he’d be hailed a genius.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p>
  
</p><p> </p><p>The Dome of the Rock had been exquisitely framed in the morning light. As had the Church of the Holy Sepulchre, the Citadel, and the Mount of Olives.</p><p>Riding in the car with Chief Inspector Black was less so. He had not moved from his position or expression since he’d gotten into the car and responded to all of Oz’s offers to see the beauty of Jerusalem with ‘seen it already.’ Currently, they were traveling behind a rather slow camel, which couldn’t be improving his mood.</p><p>“Are we done sight-seeing,” he asked. If he’d been standing, his foot would no doubt be tapping.</p><p>Oz checked his watch.</p><p>“I think we are,” he said. With the silver cap of his cane, Oz tapped the chauffer window.</p><p>“To the Wailing Wall,” he said.</p><p>The chauffer nodded and turned off the main road, thankfully away from the slow camel.</p><p>“I thought you said we were done sight-seeing,” the Chief Inspector said.</p><p>“We are,” Oz said, “I intend to give the answer to the mystery there.”</p><p>The inspector was suddenly sitting up, the scowl no longer on his face.</p><p>“You’ve got a suspect?” he asked.</p><p>“A culprit,” Oz said, looking out the window.</p><p>“Well, who is he?”</p><p>“I can’t tell you now,” Oz said, “If they even caught a hint that we knew their identity, they might try to escape, maybe even do something dangerous.”</p><p>Inspector Black grinned and pointed to his sidearm.</p><p>“I don’t think you’ve noticed this, Diggs,” he said, “but I’m the most dangerous thing in Jerusalem.”</p><p>Oz nodded.</p><p>“Maybe so,” he said, “I’m sure you’ll have the chance to prove it.”</p><p>The car pulled to a stop and both men climbed out. Oz thanked the chauffer for his service to them.</p><p>“Don’t see the reason for that,” Black said, “he’s just the help.”</p><p>“And he got us to see all that I wanted to with time to spare. For that, I thank him.” Oz replied, as the two walked toward their destination.</p><p>In Oz’s humble opinion, The Western Wall was no less impressive than anything he had seen that morning. But it was a shame something so impressive was in such a claustrophobic space, nearly crushed up against the Moroccan Quarter of the city. Especially considering the crowd that had gathered there. Christians, Muslims, and anyone observing the Jewish faith living in Jerusalem seemed to have come out to see him pronounce judgement on who had stolen the relic. And word had spread fast, it seemed, leading to the curious or the secular to journey to this sacred but crowded place, some even holding their children on their shoulders.</p><p>And the mood was anything but sacred.</p><p>Every person in the audience wore a look of worry, puzzlement, or indignation. A man in a black suit and tallit jostled a man in a taqiyah, who stared daggers at the back of the other man’s head. A woman in a burqa and one in a nun’s habit standing next to her were doing their best not to glare at each other.</p><p>Oz wouldn’t have been surprised if everyone started punching each other.</p><p>“Where’d all this come from?” the inspector asked, scratching the back of his head.</p><p>“I cabled your officers early this morning,” Oz said, “I told them to spread the word.”</p><p>“I thought we were trying to be discreet,” Inspector Black said.</p><p>“We are,” replied Oz, “I know for a fact that the thief is or will be among the assembled before noon today.”</p><p>“My office is more secure.” the Inspector said.</p><p>“The only way out of here is through this narrow alleyway,” Oz said, pointing with his cane back the way they’d come.</p><p>“If our man runs, he has only one exit. And the crowd would only slow him down.”</p><p>Black smiled.</p><p>“I’m almost starting to like you, Diggs.”</p><p>Deciding not to dwell on the sentiment, Oz made his way through the crowd, taking care to say ‘efu’ to anyone he bumped into. Black followed with much less decorum. When the two reached the front of the crowd, where a space had been formed by a group of uniformed officers, the two men turned to face the crowd.</p><p>“So,” Black said, “are we going to get this started or what?”</p><p>For a moment, Oz scanned the crowd, searching until he saw what could only be a flash of an olive green suit coat. Oz nodded.</p><p>“Bring forth the accused,” he said.</p><p>Black turned to the crowd and shouted “bring ‘em out!”</p><p>Three uniformed officers, all armed, came forward, each escorting one of three religious leaders: a rabbi, a catholic priest, and an Imam. The chief inspector snickered into the back of his hand.</p><p>“Something?” Oz asked.</p><p>“It’s like a joke,” Black said, “A rabbi, a priest, and an Imam walk into a bar…”</p><p>“I’m sure your sense of humor will come in handy later,” Oz said, “let’s focus on the crime for now.”</p><p>“I’m sure everyone here wants to get on with their day. Let me assure you that this won’t take long. At this point, we will need an armed guard near the main entrance. You.”</p><p>Oz pointed to an officer with shockingly red hair and a beard. The man stood stock still for a moment before acquiescing. Oz turned back to the crowd.</p><p>“For those of you who don’t read the papers, I will explain: five days ago, three holy men, representatives of the faiths of Christianity, Islam, and Judaism, met under the supervision of the local police in the Church of the Holy Sepulcher to discuss a time table for market use between their respective people. An hour later, a relic known as the finger of St. Nicodemus is found to be stolen. Priceless to some already, its ruby-encrusted gold case makes its value all the higher.”</p><p>Oz pointed his cane towards the three suspects.</p><p>“Each holy man protests his innocence and accuses the other. And they each have flawed or unverifiable alibis.”</p><p>Oz leveled his cane at the Rabbi, a large-waisted man of about sixty.</p><p>“Out for an afternoon stroll…”</p><p>Next, he pointed to the Imam, who was blind in one eye and held himself with an almost princely bearing.</p><p>“Praying alone…”</p><p>Finally, he pointed his cane at the priest, the youngest of the group, no doubt freshly minted from the papacy, whose face was as sour as it was youthful.</p><p>“And reading his bible in his home.”</p><p>Oz turned to face the assembled again.</p><p>“So, instead of asking which one could have done it, let’s ask why someone would do it?”</p><p>A murmur of puzzlement erupted from the crowd.</p><p>“Two of these three men live humbly. Such valuables couldn’t be disposed of without drawing suspicion. And the Rabbi is too heavy-set to even think of trying to steal the relic. He would have left a mess in his wake trying to get at it. An old laden table is the only way in the room that one could reach the relic, a table which would not have born his weight. So that leaves the Catholic priest…”</p><p>Oz stopped in front of the priest.</p><p>“But, today, I watched the father walk to where he stands now and I know for a fact he cannot have done it.”</p><p>Only someone standing a close as Oz was would have caught the way the Priest’s eyes flicked to the side.</p><p>“On a sumptuous fresco, I found a single fresh crack. From an indelicate climb in a hard soled shoe or more likely a boot. Father, would you raise your robe so we can see your leg.”</p><p>The priest looked like he was about to cuss Oz out, but then probably remembered his vows. He bent down and pulled his robe up and aside. On his left leg was a cast, painted black with shoe polish, no doubt to keep it from being spotted against his frock. Some in the crowd gasped and Oz allowed a small smile at having elicited the reaction.</p><p>“As you can see,” Oz addressed the crowd, “this man could not have made the climb. The Sister at his church told me it had been broken four days before the meeting, during an accident in the bazaar. His freshly broken leg would not have supported him, unless he was of course putting on a show for our benefit, but even then, he doesn’t wear boots. None of them do.”</p><p>He waved a hand</p><p>“And finally, the Imam. I attended his most recent Khutbah and I must say, I have never heard a more god-fearing person in my life. Why would he steal a sacred artifact if it would damn him to hell?”</p><p>Another murmur from the crowd.</p><p>“No, instead, I believe a secular suspect is what we’re looking for. Someone who has no reverence for the faith of others.”</p><p>Oz turned on his heel, marching as he spoke to where the chief inspector was standing.</p><p>“Indeed, the only person who benefits from the unrest that this whole affair causes, is one with a material goal. A man who’s office I had my assistant search while I was taking in the sights earlier today.”</p><p>From the crowd, Oscar came forward, holding in his hands a brown leather satchel.</p><p>“Someone,” Oz continued, “who does not wish to lose a well-paid post when there are rumblings of self-governance among the people, a fit young man of thirty-nine who does wear boots, and now regrets his superiors having asked me to consult on this case.”</p><p>Oz stopped before Chief Inspector Black, who now stood ramrod straight, jaw clenched in anger as he stared at Oz.</p><p>“How dare you accuse me!” he said.</p><p>“I don’t accuse. I speculate. If you’re innocent, the evidence will prove it.”</p><p>Oz waved Oscar over to him.</p><p>“Did you search his office?”</p><p>Oscar nodded.</p><p>“I did.”</p><p>The chief inspector said something under his breath that sounded like ‘fig-sucking-rat,’ but no-one could really tell.</p><p>“And did you find what I thought you would?” Oz asked?</p><p>From the leather satchel, Oscar handed Oz a bundle of burlap.</p><p>“Good boy,” Oz said, “take one of the officers and go to the alley way.”</p><p>Oscar walked over to an officer with a dark mustache, who followed him to where Oz had told him to go.</p><p>Oz’s attention returned to the bundle in his hands. Carefully, he unwrapped the folds, revealing a box of gold, encrusted with rubies. A sound like steam escaping welled up from the crowd and at least one of the police officers looked like he was going to faint on the spot.</p><p>“Would you care to explain this?” Oz asked the Inspector.</p><p>“I was nowhere near that church when it was stolen.”</p><p>“No!”</p><p>Oz pointed the silver head of his cane mere inches from Chief Inspector Black’s face</p><p>“My apprentice and I have interviewed everyone in your office and in the bar you frequent. No-one at either place can account for your whereabouts between the hours of 11:00 and 1:30, which is half an hour after the conclusion of the Holy Men’s meeting. What were you doing then?”</p><p>Black crossed his arms.</p><p>“I am being framed.”</p><p>“Then what were you doing between 11:00 and 1:30, Chief Inspector?”</p><p>Oz held up the satchel for everyone to see.</p><p>“That satchel has sat in your office since the day after the robbery. All your co-workers say you hadn’t owned a bag like it until then and you haven’t taken it anywhere since you bought it. Why would you buy a new bag and then not use it for anything?”</p><p>“Maybe I kept it for the ambience?” Black sneered.</p><p>“Then I’m sure you won’t mind if we double check your alibi with the proper people?”</p><p>Black smirked.</p><p>“Gladly.”</p><p>“But Mr. Black,” Oz said, “we don’t know your alibi. You only said where you weren’t.”</p><p>For two minutes, the Chief Inspector just stared Oz down, as if his will power alone was enough to change the facts that had been laid bare. Oz, however, seemed only to regard his murderous glance with cool indifference.</p><p>“If your answer has nothing to do with the case,” Oz said, “then you’re free and clear.”</p><p>Black’s hands shot out and grabbed the relic from the man across from him, making a mad dash for the alley entrance.</p><p>The crowd, now knowing he was the culprit, was having none of it, some linking arms and others grabbing at his uniforms and for the relic, slowing his escape to a crawl.</p><p>When it became obvious that he wouldn’t be able to escape that way, her turned and fought to walk the other way.</p><p>Finally breaking from the crowd, Black ran the other direction, only to be stopped by one of his own officers, aiming his rifle straight for his chest.</p><p>“Sorry, sir,” the officer said, his voice shaking, “just doing my duty.”</p><p>Black swore and turned to re-try his first escape route, only to be knocked flat on his back by an outstretched cane.</p><p>“There’s nowhere left to run,” Oz said, “you have no choice but to face the consequences.”</p><p>Laying on the ground, Black’s face was a mix of indignation and fear. Years of service, his penchant, his reputation gone in a flash, all thanks to this arrogant sod and his brat. But if that insufferable son of a bitch thought he had no way out, he wasn’t as smart as he thought. Black reached for his sidearm.</p><p>“Don’t—”</p><p>A gunshot echoed off the Wailing Wall.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I know it's been a bit, but I'm sorry to say this will be the last update on this story for maybe a week. I'll be focusing on Rosegarden week prompts and since my first attempt in 2019 went pear-shaped (I will return to it. This I swear) I want to make sure the new prompts are finished and posted on time. Anyway, feel free to leave kudos and comments. You know how much I love comments.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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